Beauty & the Beasts
by Kalla.Flower
Summary: How could I love a beast? I've seen the horror and destruction caused by his kind. It would be wrong to love him. 'I mustn't,' I told myself. 'I mustn't, I mustn't, I mustn't...' BxE
1. Prologue

A/N: Okay, okay, I know this fic concept has been done many times already (twenty-two times, as a matter of fact--I checked) but I still want to do it, because ever since I read Twilight, I've always thought of Beauty & the Beast when I think of Bella and Edward. The Beast was my first love when I was a little girl, I can't help but want to combine him with my new love for Edward :) So I hope that my writing style will put a new twist to an old concept, but if you're not diggin' reading 'Beauty & the Beast: Twilight-style' again for the _bajillionth time _feel free to skip out on this one.

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"_It's said there's a castle in a wild garden at the center of these woods; and if you ever walk into the trees till you are out of sight of the edge of the forest and you can see nothing but big dark trees all around you, you will be drawn to that castle; and in the castle there lives a monster. He was a man once, some tales say, and was turned into a terrible monster as a punishment for his evil deeds..._

"..._The tale also goes that no hunter ever finds game in there; and you know our garden is curiously free of rabbits and woodchucks--and that in itself is uncanny. And never a deer do you see, and no man has taken one from this forest in the memory of the oldest grandfather's memories of his childhood's tales." - __**Pg. 55, Beauty: A Retelling of the Story of Beauty & the Beast by Robin McKinley **_

_**Beauty & the Beasts**_

_Prologue_

No one means to be alone, sometimes it just happens that way. Edward Anthony Masen II had not lived his life thinking that he would be alone always; he had simply been waiting for The One. What he had seen as extreme patience on his part, others had perceived as arrogance and condescension. He had witnessed many a lovely, well-accomplished lady, with her dowry-bearing papa in tow, sniff petulantly and cast him a bitter glare out of the corner of her long-lashed eyes as she made her way out of his home with a resounding '_No' _trailing behind her after he denied her papa's inquiry of marriage. It had not been as if he hadn't been flattered by the attention, because he had. In fact, he had been quite embarrassed, really; and what those pretty hopefuls and their fathers took as a rather abrupt and rude rejection had actually been a curt and fumbled no. He had been too bashful to explain to all of those people that he hadn't wanted to marry someone who was just an admirer of his looks, wealth, and title--he had wanted passionate everlasting love. 

But because society hadn't known the reason behind his actions, everyone made up their own conclusions about him. Some had said that beauty was wasted on him; which would include his own physical beauty and the aesthetically pleasing beauty of the young maidens who so desperately wanted to be The One for him. _It's a pity he's so handsome_, he had overheard one of his loose-lipped servants say during one of their gossiping sessions one day, _Have you seen some of the gorgeous ladies he's rejected? He's so picky that he'll prob'ly die alone a filthy rich old hermit._ Hearing people, his own staff included, think so lowly of him saddened him and hardened him at the same time. And as time and marriage evasions piled higher, his reputation as a stalwart bachelor grew--as well as his bitterness towards those that whispered about him behind their hands.

To escape the trappings of the city, Edward had left London to travel abroad. With his inherited wealth, traipsing through Europe was an easy feat for him. He had studied art, music, language, culture, mathematics, science, religion, philosophy--anything and everything under the sun. Yet, being in some of the most romantic cities on earth had made him more aware of the hollow that he could not fill with factual knowledge--for this hollow was the hollow in his heart, and he had needed knowledge of the heart, romantic love, to fill it to the brim.

Looking back on it now, Edward cursed his youthful self, hating how affected he had been by the enchantments and romantic whims that followed him through France and Spain and Greece, then led him on that fateful journey through Italy--because Italy had been his damnation. He had entered the country lonely and starved to find The One. He had been tired of waiting for his life to begin, and doubly tired of his seemingly tireless brain which whispered thoughts like: _What if I never find her? What if there is no her? What if, like so many of the star-crossed tragedies, Fate has intervened and the love of my life is already lying in her grave or has not even been born yet_? And to accompany these whispers, like a harsh nipping wind, were the echoed words of his servant_: 'he'll prob'ly die alone he'll prob'ly die alone he'll prob'ly die alone...'_

He had been easy prey.

In the beautiful city of Volterra, a beautiful, mysterious woman had captured his attention one crisp night. Her skin had been as pale as the moon; her hair, waves of silk mahogany. When she spoke, the smoky lilt of her voice enthralled him. By the end of her first spoken sentence, he had been sure that she was The One. So enthralled with her was he that he hadn't, at the time, thought to wonder why such a young, pretty woman was walking alone at night without an escort. And by the time he had had enough of a notion to wonder about her lone state, it was too late; his fate had already been sealed.

Her voice and words had woven together to create a work of art, poetry, and song--but she had never spoken higher than an intimate whisper. He had listened to her speak as she led him nowhere, somewhere, he hadn't cared where, sure that, if he kept listening, he would find the meaning to life hidden in her husky, feminine tone. For she knew knowledge beyond his reckoning; not the things easily learned from a book or from a university professor, but things of wonder, magic, and speculation. She had told him the secrets hidden in the gentle music of a breeze; how the earth breathed and pulsed in pleasure under the sun's merry light; and last she said sweetly near his ear, so close that he could smell her magnificent scent, how she could hear the staccato of his racing heart and singing blood calling out to her. His broken "_Yes_" had seemed to change something within her because her dark burgundy, passion-suffused eyes softened and she lifted her hand to touch him for the first time, delicately brushing his cheek and jawline. His confusion at the abnormal ice-cold feel of her touch had been drowned out by her intense eyes and voice. "Come with me," she had said; and he had.

She had taken him to an estate fit for a king. Leading him through the labyrinthine passageways, she had not stopped her seductive glide until she had lead him through a chilly stone antechamber that then had led through to a castle turret. This room had been shadowy; dim light that cast from hanging oil lamps had been present, making the room only semi-dark instead of completely pitch black. It had been deathly quiet. The stillness made the cavernous room eery, and when Edward had looked up at the high ceiling, he had been surprised to see an unobstructed view of the moon and stars glinting overhead.

"Where are we," he had asked.

"You are in the House of Volturi," a masculine, whispery voice had answered. Edward had started at the sound and looked around for the disembodied voice. A ghostly pale figure with ink black hair had seemed to materialize fluidly out of the shadows. His face had been striking, like the woman's, but soft and bloodless; almost too striking to be attractive. His eyes had been a warm burgundy, bogged with murky clouds, but sharp with a wisdom only gained through years of experience. He had smiled congenially. "Heidi, who is your friend?"

Edward had turned to the woman--or Heidi, as that was what her name was--and caught his breath as she smiled coquettishly. "Edward Anthony Masen the Second, Master."

"Ah," the man had said with a twinkle in his eyes, making Edward think that the two had been sharing a private joke. To him the man had directed: "You are an English gentleman, I presume?"

"Yes," he had answered, bemused.

"Well then," the man had said in delight, "Welcome to Volterra!" He had come forth, grace in his every movement. "I am Aro," he had introduced, offering his delicate-looking hand for a handshake. Edward had snapped out of his confusion enough to mind his manners and shook the hand proffered to him. It had also been cold--but he had noticed something stranger that had happened at the contact: the man's eyes had seemed to look through him, _beyond_ him.

"He is a good man," Aro had then said in Heidi's direction, fatherly approval in his tone. "You have chosen well."

A beatific smile had formed on Heidi's full red mouth. "I knew there was something about him. He's different...something more."

"Yes, Heidi, I believe you are right," Aro had said, his curious, ancient eyes never leaving Edward's face. "More..."

Edward had stepped back, feeling uneasy under the combined stares of the two people--_strangers! _his mind shouted--whose skin looked too ethereal in the glow of the moon and whose eyes he was most positive were otherworldly now that he thought about it. "I-I'm sorry. I must go." He had started to turn around.

"Go?" Aro had said, sounding crestfallen. "You cannot go, you have only just gotten here."

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I have a prior engagement," Edward had lied feebly over his shoulder. He had then swiftly turned towards the door that led to the exit--both Aro and Heidi were suddenly there before him; he blanched.

"You do not have to walk in this world alone anymore," Aro had said in his soft coaxing voice. "I know this is what you worry about."

'_he'll prob'ly die alone_' 

Edward's breath had escaped on a choked gasp. "W-what?"

"Perhaps," Aro had continued, beckoning Heidi forth towards Edward. Edward had mistakenly caught her gaze and found himself trapped within the red smoldering fire. "The One has found you."

Everything from that point on had been a haze of pain so profound that there had been no room for thought. His mind had emptied and his eyes had slowly dimmed to black from the edges inward. He had awoken cold...but not alone. Heidi and Aro and the rest of the Volturi had been there to greet him and welcome him home.

His life as a vampire had begun. Everything was clearer, easier--yet harder in places, too. He had strength, speed, and stamina beyond the telling of it, but also something more...something his new family had considered a gift. He didn't think of it that way. Being able to hear the thoughts of all of those around him quickly became old, and he found himself just as jaded as his human self had been about love and trust. Heidi had not been the one for him; he had learned that quickly from being able to read her mind. There was no deep passion for anything except blood in her. She had admired him, found him satisfactory enough to maybe someday be her mate, but that was it. She had been just like every other lovely hopeful who wanted something from him; being turned had taken the rose colored glasses from his eyes so he could see beyond the power of Heidi's hypnotic form. 

Aro had been disappointed that Edward and Heidi had not made a match, but was quickly absorbed in the wonderful surprise of Edward's ability to read minds. Since his gift was so similar to Aro's, Aro had taken it upon himself to be Edward's mentor and father. Aro had taught him the rules of the hunt; how they must never kill anyone within the walled-city of Volterra, only outsiders; and also that he could never let the existence of vampires be known unless he was in want of a swift death. Time had gone on, he had obeyed the rules, he had read minds, and he had fed. He did this until he could do it no more.

But the bitter twist to being the perfect hunter was being able to hear his victims silent beggings for mercy; being able to see images of their young, soon-to-be orphaned children; being able to witness the last passionate kiss the victim had ever shared with their lover. Life flashes before a person's eyes before they die; he had images upon images and thoughts upon thoughts of every life he had ever taken stored permanently in his mind. It drove him mad.

One night he had looked at the walled-city of Volterra, beyond the gates, from the outside. Something in him finally snapped and he had decided then and there that he was never going to go back inside. 

Leaving had been predictably easy; vampires often went their separate ways to gain experiences of their own. He had used his preternatural stealth to sneak onto a ship headed west. He had figured that it was only fitting that he would make his fresh start on fresh land--the wilds of the Americas had sounded promising. Once he was again on dry land, he had taken to traveling by night under the cover of darkness; swiftly climbing mountains and running through grasslands at full speed. His hunger was always there, tormenting him, but being in such a vast land where people were few helped. When Edward had finally discovered that animals could be used in substitute for human blood to sustain him, he had been deliriously triumphant--and vowed that he would never again shed the blood of man. 

His new way of life set, he had spiralled further and further into seclusion, avoiding humanity and searching for his niche in the world. He had found it furthest west, on the opposite shore of the mostly unclaimed land. It was a wonderland of vivid green, blanketed by dark gray storm clouds. Thick-trunked trees covered in a fine webbing of moss forested the land, as well as the springy, brush-covered floor. And he had suddenly remembered his birth parents, long ago dead from illness, because of the beauty of the green. _Their eyes had been that same exact shade of green_, he had thought. This had decided him. He had ventured inwards into the heart of the woods, where no glimmers of light could reach him, and had started to work on making his home.

He still resides there now. 

Over the years Edward's fortress grew and grew under his tireless efforts, the widdling and carpentering and grinding of wood and stones something to occupy his endless time--until he could not deny the magnificent structure for what it had become: a castle. Sometimes he would gaze at it from afar and laugh ruefully at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. A structure such as this was something to be admired by all and bustling with life. It should be filled with cooks and maids and butlers and royalty; it should host balls where ladies could show up decked out in all of their finery, looking as fit as princesses and blushing prettily as they accepted admiring gentle-men's invitations to a dance. Instead it was a silent massive edifice shadowed by tall evergreens and permanent rain clouds, housing him, a lone being--not even human: a vampire.

Having such a grand home could, perhaps, have been an unconscious effort to recapture the high society life he had lived when he had been a part of the Volturi--but deep down he knew it wasn't.

Deep down he knew the real reason was because no one really means to be alone, and this giant, elegantly made castle was his white flag.

Hope springs eternal. The ever patient part of him was still waiting for The One.

_To Be Continued..._

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A/N: Reviews make me happy! Please let me know what you think of it so far!

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	2. Clumsy Servant Girl

A/N: I want to personally thank both _**Wanting Edward **_and _**ShinyThings6465 **_for reviewing the prologue! Thank you both for showing interest in this story; I honestly don't know if I would have continued this if no one had let me know if they wanted to read more or not. But all I needed was that small bit of encouragement! So this fic will go on! Muahahahaha!

Quick fact: Since the Swan family is from Italy in this story, certain family member's names are spelled differently than their English counterparts: Charlie would be Carlotto, Alice would be Alicia, and Rosalie would be Rosalia; but to keep people from getting confused, most of the time I'm just going to go ahead and call them by their original names. The only time you should hear their Italian names is if their name is spoken in dialogue. Let me know if this is too confusing and/or annoying.

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_'I was the youngest of three daughters. Our literal-minded mother named us Grace, Hope, and Honour, but few people except perhaps the minister who had baptized all three of us remembered my given name. My father still likes to tell the story of how I acquired my odd nickname: I had come to him for further information when I first discovered that our names meant something besides you-come-here. He succeeded in explaining grace and hope, but he had some difficulty trying to make the concept of honour understandable to a five-year-old. I heard him out, but with an expression of deepening disgust; and when he was finished I said: "Huh! I'd rather be Beauty."' - Pg. 1, __**Beauty: A Retelling of the Story of Beauty & the Beast by Robin McKinley**_

_**Beauty & the Beasts**_

_Chapter One_

_One century later..._

I looked up at the sky, trying to will the sun to break through the fog that had rolled in from the Mediterranean sea, then sighed and dully took in my surroundings once again when my mental plea did nothing to make the sun show. Today was a market day, a day that I usually looked forward to--but not on days like this one. When the sun was shining brightly in the sky and the breeze kept the weather cool, market day was cheery and there was no tension; but the exact opposite occurred on the market days when the sun would not break through the clouds. Days like today kept people on edge as they shopped for goods. They didn't trust the shadows.

I and my older sisters, Rosalie and Alice, were standing behind our usual booth, selling the goods produced from the villa we lived and worked at. Sacks of wheat and flax seed came from the villa's fields; cartons full of grapes, raisins, and olives came from the villa's orchards; and corked bottles of olive oil and wine were the advantageous excesses from the grape and olive fruits that were harvested at our villa.

I flicked a dark purple grape. "Do you think tha--"

"No," Rosalie answered swiftly in a bored voice.

"You didn't even let me finish," I said, feeling my cheeks turn hot in annoyance.

"_No_," she said, putting emphasis on the word as she turned to face me, her perfect face stoic. "You cannot run off to the library and read your books. We need you here, helping."

I pointedly looked around at the nearly empty market street, but Rosalie stubbornly refused to be bated. I sighed again and started shredding a raisin into minuscule pieces. Alice slapped my hand to make me stop abusing our goods, but her eyes were laughing. I settled into a glower and Alice's laughter bubbled out into an audible sound. "So cranky when you are denied your books, aren't you, Bella?"

I humphed; this seemed to be even more amusing to her. "Silly Bella," she said, shaking her head. She then covertly threw a raisin at me; it bounced harmlessly off my forehead. My mouth gaped open in shock. I met Alice's gaze and she gave me a challenging smile. I picked up a raisin and lobbed it at her head but she ducked to the side and it sailed passed her--only to hit Rosalie, who had been diligently rearranging sacks of flax seed, in the back of the head.

Her body stiffened and she slowly turned and glared at the both of us. "Toddlers!" she exclaimed vehemently. "You are both overgrown toddlers!"

Alice and I looked at one another; after a moment's pause we burst into giggles. Rosalie let out a frustrated screech and we laughed even harder.

"What a lively bunch we have here," a deep masculine voice suddenly said in amusement. Our little world behind the booth was instantly penetrated, and my back straightened as a rippling sensation went along my skin, raising the hair on end. I was unaware of my sisters reactions to the intruding voice, but I could imagine that they had been similar to my own. I slowly turned to face the owner of the voice and felt my breath leave me.

The man was definitely a Volturi, of this I was certain. Being one who lived outside the walled-city of Volterra, I had never encountered the nobility that ruled the city our village shared borders with, but I had heard stories. The Volturi were said to be the most devastatingly beautiful creatures to exist throughout all of Italy, with skin as pale as the moon and faces too beautiful to compare to any in this world. Fallen angels, some had called them. Looking at this man, I believed those stories.

Suddenly I felt one of my sisters tug my arm and I stumbled. I turned to see Rosalie and Alice poised in elegant curtsies and I managed to turn my stumble into an awkward bow. The man chuckled and I felt my face flush in embarrassment. "You may rise," he said in a voice full of humor. When I looked up again, he was not looking at me, the bumbling oaf-girl, but was instead gazing fixedly at Rosalie. His eyes were still warm from his laughter, but their focus had deepened in intensity. _He looks hungry_, I thought, disturbed. But then I realised that he was at a food market. _Of course he may look hungry_, I mentally berated myself.

"I could not help but stop by your booth when I saw all the fun you were having." He tore his gaze away from Rosalie to look around at the other vendors that were silent behind their booths and I followed his gaze. "Besides the three of you, the market is very dead today," he observed. And he was right. All of the other people selling goods from their farmlands were deathly quiet and their olive complexions were chalky pale, as if they were very ill. All of their faces were looking in different directions--but they were all steadfastly not looking in our direction. The few customers that had been milling around the market were gone. One man behind a neighboring booth covertly looked in our direction through the corner of his eye; when he noticed me staring back his eyes widened in panic and he swiftly looked away. Apparently even amongst people who lived in Volterra, seeing someone of noble birth was uncommon.

"But then again I have not frequented the market many times," the man of Volturi said in his deep hypnotic voice. "Is this the normal turnout?"

Rosalie cleared her throat. The man's probing gaze instantly zeroed in on her again and he smiled generously at her. Rosalie sounded faint as she spoke. "N-no. Usually there is a good deal of people who come to the market. It is the dreary weather that keeps them away," she ended on an apologetic note, as if she should have tried to somehow prevent the dark gray clouds from forming in the sky herself.

The man made a motion with one pale sinewy arm, as if to brush Rosalie's worry aside. "No matter. If I had known lovely ladies such as yourselves would be attending to my needs, I would have been around the market much sooner--good weather or not," he flirted, his eyes solely on Rosalie.

I exchanged a glance with Alice; sure enough her cheeks were warmed with embarrassment too. Good. I wasn't the only one who felt like I was intruding in on an intimate moment.

"I am Felix Volturi," he introduced. "And you are?"

Rosalie, who had been swaying on the spot, snapped back to attention and motioned to herself, then Alice and I individually. "I am Rosalia Swan. And these are my sisters, Alicia and Isabella Swan. We are pleased to meet you, Lord Volturi." Alice and I parroted her greeting.

Lord Felix Volturi smiled at each of us in turn as he came forward. "Please, call me Felix." My breath stuttered when I realised that he meant to kiss each of us on our cheeks, as was our custom. The thought of this man, with his fallen angel face, being so near made my heart pound with anxiety. I watched as both Rosalie and Alice delicately trembled as his lips brushed the apples of their prettily blushing cheeks--and then it was my turn. _He must think me hideous after taking in the lovely features of Rosalie and Alice_, I thought in vexation. As his face came closer to mine I distractedly noticed something peculiar about his dark eyes; they were not dark brown, as they had seemed from afar, but were in all actuality a dark blackish-red, like blood. I too trembled as his lips caressed my cheeks. His kisses left two spots of winter-cold on my flesh--or perhaps it felt cold because my face was overheated from blushing so profusely. He then breathed in deeply and was suddenly at a respectable distance again. "Nice to meet you all," he said with a rakish smile.

"Uhm, yes," Rosalie mumbled, the more coherent of the three of us.

"That scent," he said conversationally, looking at the assorted goods within our booth. "It's very pleasant. What is it?"

My sisters and I, I'm sorry to say, were too dazed to understand what he was talking about at first. I was the first to comprehend. "Oh! Um, yes, it's a combination of dried ingredients that we put together in a sealed pouch," I said, becoming the merchant that I was. I was more comfortable with this role; thinking of this man as a customer made him easier to talk to, and made me center all my focus on the topic at hand rather than centering my focus on how very plain I was compared to the people around me. I reached over and picked up one of the very pouches I was talking about and handed it over to him. "It's filled with flax seed, from the fields of the villa we serve at, and also some other things that you can find here at other booths," I informed him, motioning to our still-silent neighboring vendors. "This particular mixture is flax seed, coconut oil, and citrus oil. It's my favorite," I added shyly, looking down.

"Interesting," he said; I looked up to see him giving it a thoughtful look. "I'll take it." With a flick of his wrist he pulled out a money pouch from an inner pocket of his dark charcoal cloak. He set the whole pouch down on the flat surface of our booth. The clink of coins was heavy.

"I don't think--" Alice started in protest, eyeing the undoubtedly vast amount of money.

He held up a placating hand, silencing her. "Please. I want you to have it." He smiled a brilliant smile. "Besides, I think the tradeoff's fair. Now all I have to do is breathe in this fragrance and I will always be able to remember the three most beautiful ladies in all of Italy." At his words I felt something shrink inside of me: I was sure that he only included me in his complement to be courteous.

"Though I hope that I will not have to resort to reliving my memories to ever see you again," he continued, again looking at Rosalie. "How far do you live from the city? I would like to invite you all to the Volturi estate for dinner and dancing one evening. We are having a ball in about a fortnight."

I felt my eyes widen in shock.

"W-well," Rosalie said, visibly flustered at the prospect of being invited to such an elite social gathering. "Not too far. It is about an hour long journey by horse going down the main path that leads out of Volterra."

"Perfect," he said with a slight incline of his head. "Expect an invitation posthaste." Before any of us could gather our thoughts and answer him back or give him a farewell, he turned and left.

The other vendors seemed to breathe one giant sigh of relief when Felix Volturi was gone, and then suddenly all eyes were on my sisters and I. I couldn't quite figure out the emotion that seemed to be displayed on all of their faces.

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My shock about being invited to a ball quickly turned to nausea. Sure enough an invitation made of rich stationery, which was inscribed with the most elegant script, was sent to the villa on the evening of the same day that my sisters and I met Felix Volturi, addressed to the 'charming daughters of Signor Carlotto Swan.'

In a fortnight I was to be amongst Italian Lords and Ladies and be expected to dance. I was dreading it as if it were the Plague.

Our father Charlie was beyond flattered that his daughters had been invited to such an important gathering, happy that we were going to experience what most lower class people could never even dream of. "If anyone is most deserving of this honor, it is my three precious ones," he said upon finding out the news.

The rest of the evening had been spent celebrating. All of the families that lived and worked on the villa joined us in our wing of the house, generously bringing dishes of delicious smelling foods and wine to keep everyone merry. I left the festivities early.

I laid in my bed, staring up at the ceiling of my and my sisters' shared room, contemplating a setting where I was among people as beautiful as fallen angels. I couldn't imagine it. I, with my mud brown eyes, equally dull-colored hair, and pale lanky body, would look like the clumsy servant girl that I was--while I could see my sisters finally flourishing given the opportunity of courting a Lord. Rosalie, with her flawless face and tumbling silk of golden wavy hair, had beauty that was already equal to that of a patrician woman, and would finally look the part with her womanly curved figure in silks and satins. And Alice, with her petite dancers body and shining raven black hair, was the epitome of grace and loveliness as she could charm anyone with her dazzling smile and playful manner.

I, on the other hand, was a shy lump who was good at cooking and making potpourri and who spent her free time with her nose in a book. I did not want to go to any ball. I resolved to tell my family that I would not go to the Volturi estate first thing the next morning.

_To Be Continued..._


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